A Cure for Nightmares
by Flanna
Summary: Draco's nightmares have left him drained. Desperate for help, he approaches Harry Potter for advice. (slash)
1. Act 1

A Cure for Nightmares  
  
Draco stifled a whimper. The very last thing he needed was for his housemates to see him in this state of weakness. He scrunched his face up and buried it in his pillow, breathing erratically through his nose, willing himself to calm down. This dream had been fairly tame in comparison to the others: a basement full of wyrms, underfed and starving. He'd thought they were snakes at first and was drawn to the room, only to fall in and be consumed. He'd tried to close his eyes, and realized his lids had been chewed off.  
  
Often, his dreams were far worse. Pieces of bodies, shredded and burnt. Wading through a flooded graveyard, with the remains of the long-dead floating like driftwood around him. Shrouded ghosts singing the stories of their death to him, and Draco unable to block it out.  
  
He's mostly desensitized to it all. He'll wake with a deep-seated disgust, an uncomfortable feeling of dissatisfaction, and the notion that he'd rather cut off his own fingers than contemplate sleeping again. More than the images he sees, it's the fact that he can't control his own mind twenty-four hours of the day that bothers him. His grades are dropping, even in Potions, because he hasn't had a decent night's rest in weeks. No one sees him on the weekends. He spends the days catching up on sleep.  
  
It's affecting his relationships with others. He's grown closer to Crabbe and Goyle. He'd never admit it, but he was almost dependant on them. Vince brings him food on Saturdays, gently touches his shoulder at sunset and urges him to eat. He's eternally grateful. He'd do the same for them.  
  
He takes his agitation out on Potter. Strangely, Potter absorbs it, ignores it, rarely responds. Potter's even called off his goons from defending him. Perhaps he notices the dark circles under Draco's eyes, or the hazy way he speaks these days. He has a grudging respect for Potter's goodness, but only when he's on the receiving end of it.  
  
Ultimately, that's what lead him to Potter. Draco knows Potter won't judge him or use his confessions against him, even though he probably wouldn't do the same were the situation reversed. On a Saturday evening, he waited outside the doors of the Great Hall as it filled with hungry students. Vince and Greg were reluctant to leave him, but he was able to allay their concerns and send them off to eat.  
  
Potter walked in, accompanied by a few Weasels but no Mudblood in sight. "Potter," he said, certain to keep malice from his tone.   
  
Potter turned toward him and raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy?"  
  
"Could I have a moment of your time?" The Weasels were closing in on him, and he scowled. "Call off your dogs, I just want to talk."  
  
He didn't take his eyes off Draco. "Fred, George, I'll meet you two inside. Tell Ron and Hermione to save me a seat." He waited for them to leave, then crossed his arms over his chest. "What's all this about, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco found himself looking at the floor. He realized how vulnerable he appeared, but was too worn to care. "You've had a lot of bad things happen to you. Do you ever..." He glanced up again. "How do you sleep, with some of the things you've seen?"  
  
"Oh..." Potter's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he gave Draco a concerned look. "I figured you weren't sleeping. You're having nightmares? That's what's wrong with you?"  
  
"There's nothing wrong with me!" Draco spat, instinctually defensive.  
  
Sighing with frustration, Potter rolled his eyes and turned away. "Fine. I'm not talking to you if you act like that." He looked around at the students still filing past. Occasionally, strange looks would be thrown at the pair. He leaned closer to Draco and lowered his voice, conspiratorily. "If you did want to talk civilly, you can meet me in the Advanced Muggle Literature classroom at one tonight. It's in the south wing, on the sixth floor," he clarified at Draco's confused expression. He nodded, and Potter left him for the Great Hall.  
  
Draco skipped dinner and returned to his room. Behind the thick curtains of his bed, his rendezvous with Potter left him feeling ashamed and angry with himself. To show such vulnerability to a sworn rival... what was he thinking? Foolishly, he'd all but obliterated his guard, and if Potter ever used it against him, he'd only have himself to blame. Cursing softly, he rolled over and closed his eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
When Draco woke again, the room was dark and the world was asleep. He groped for his wand and whispered "Lumos". It was only 12:30, according to his pocketwatch, and he had time to kill before his meeting with Potter. If he chose to go, that is. He could still back out, of course, and neither himself nor Potter would think less of him for it.  
  
A plate of food had been left on the nightstand next to his bed. Three pieces of cake (just like his friends, he thought, considering dessert first!) and two sandwiches, lovingly prepared by Vince and Greg. Famished, he practically inhaled the food.  
  
Draco was already dressed. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair mussed and hanging in his eyes, but he didn't bother fixing it before leaving. It was just Potter, after all. He didn't matter.  
  
Anticipating the meeting, Draco had dreamed about him. The dream replayed itself as he walked through the cold, empty stone corridors of Hogwarts: Potter had pounced on him, his green eyes so bright they nearly blinded him. As Draco squirmed, Potter bit down on his lips and ripped them off, then with a swipe of razor fingernails, tore Draco's throat out.  
  
"You came." Potter seemed surprised. He was sitting cross-legged on a desk, invisibility cloak in a silvery heap on a nearby chair.  
  
Draco nodded and shut the door behind him. "You must realize how absolutely stupid I feel for this. I may have to have Greg obliviate me tomorrow morning." He cracked a slight smile, and Potter chuckled in return.  
  
"So you're having nightmares then?"  
  
Draco nodded. "Bad ones."  
  
"I've known something's been wrong," Potter said, giving Draco a soft look. "You haven't been your usual caustic self lately."  
  
Draco just glanced down. He slumped against the wall til he was sat on the floor, legs curled under him. In a low voice, he admitted, "I'm unsure what to say to you, Potter."  
  
"Well, you ought to relax, as I won't hurt you - unless you strike first," he added hastily. "And you may as well call me Harry... Draco."  
  
"No use for formalities during clandestine meetings," Draco agreed.  
  
Potter sat down next to him. "Exactly." He tilted his head toward Draco, staring at him sympathetically from under long lashes. "Tell me about your dreams."  
  
Draco shook his head rigidly. "No. You tell me about yours first."  
  
"All right, then. I dream in shades of green." As Harry shivered, Draco found himself placing a tentative hand on his forearm. "I dream of Cedric's body falling and hitting the ground, the thump replaying itself over and over. I dream of hearing his bones crack as his dead weight hits them, and dragging his body away from the graveyard. Sometimes, I dream of my parents' bodies, stinking of rot and crawling with insects, and me as a tot trying to wake them..."  
  
"Why green?" Draco asked.  
  
"The killing curse is green," Harry answered in a thin whisper.  
  
Draco squeezed Harry's arm. He no longer felt so vulnerable himself. Even more surprisingly, he felt fiercely protective of Harry's trust. Harry had confided in him, and Draco actually thought he wouldn't break the confidence.  
  
He'd removed his glasses and wiped at his damp eyes. "I, um, I brought you some things. To help," Harry said. He rose to his feet and straightened his robes. "My cure for nightmares is to get them out of my head. Like an exorcism. I write them down, record them in a journal." From the chair, under the invisibility cloak, he picked up two books.  
  
"This one - " Harry held up a worn notebook with canvas cover. " - is mine. Look through it if you'd like, but you'll not take it from this room. And this other journal I've brought for you to start writing your nightmares in. I hope it helps you." He tossed both books onto Draco's lap.  
  
Draco nodded a distracted thanks as he opened Potter's journal. On the first page he opened to, brilliant green snakes writhed over a red carpet. He flipped the page. Now the girl Weasel stood with her back to him. Suddenly she turned, revealing a deformed face - reptilian red eyes, wide and unblinking, her nose pulled back into her face and a mouth full of sharp teeth. She opened her mouth, revealing a forked tongue, and across the top of the page, words appeared: Harry, what's happened to me?  
  
Cringing, Draco flipped through more pages. An image of himself made him stop. In the picture, he was shirtless with a silver fox fur wrapped around his shoulders. Harry was curled into his side, nuzzling his face against the fur...  
  
"Not that one!" Harry flushed, grabbing the journal and slamming it shut. "You've seen enough, I think. I'll just, uh, hold onto this." He grinned sheepishly, not quite meeting Draco's eyes.  
  
Seeing that was more of a nightmare for me than you, he wanted to say to Potter. Instead, Draco picked up his own journal and stood up. "We ought to leave. Don't you think? If one of your nosy friends notices your absence, they'll curse me."  
  
"Look, the picture - it's not anything, really. Not something I dream about regularly, and I certainly don't like dreaming such things."   
  
Draco remembered why Potter annoyed him as Harry babbled in his own defense. "I'll think nothing of it," Draco told him. He was glad for the sparse light of their wands in the room. Potter wouldn't notice the blush on his cheeks as the memory rooted itself in his mind.  
  
* * *  
  
The first dream Draco recorded in his journal was being torn apart by Harry Potter. When he slept again, Potter invaded that dream too. He crawled over Draco and sucked Draco's lips. He gasped, threw back his head while Harry nibbled his throat. Draco felt insatiable, impatient, he wanted it all before the dream ended...  
  
Draco's body was warm and flushed when he woke, his underwear uncomfortably sticky. He shut his eyes tight and groaned. The day may come, he decided, when he actually wished for the nightmares to return. 


	2. Act 2

First things first: Thank you, everyone, who reviewed part one! I really appreciate it. I'd be forever grateful if you kept up with the reviewing, because truthfully, I could use the ego boost. :)  
  
* * *  
  
Skin stretches. It strains taut over flesh, and when it's cut, skin eases back. Wounds smile at Draco as he gazes down at the woman's body. He doesn't know her; doesn't know her history, identity or fate. There is no gore. He wonders where the blood went; the cuts gape cleanly, exposing red muscle beneath, and only a clear liquid seeps from the body.  
  
Wakefulness eased over him like a tide. The first thing Draco did was grab for his quill. The second, reach into his pillowcase and draw out the journal Harry had given him. In the bland, slightly incohesive language of his groggy mind, he recorded the dream while every detail in his memory was fresh. When he finished, he shut his eyes and held the image in his mind, concentrating. "Actuare," he whispered, tapping his wand to the page. Instantly, the words reformed and reshaped into the sliced woman, lying lifeless, her wounds spilling glassy fluid.  
  
Draco closed the journal and slipped it back in his pillowcase. Dim violet light was filtering through the window; only twilight, Draco reasoned. He would fall back asleep and wake refreshed in time for breakfast. His sleep would be dreamless.  
  
* * *  
  
In the corridor near Advanced Charms, Potter and his stooges caught up with him. "Well you look chipper," he snorted, eyeing Draco. "Of course, you've bought your Potions grade already, so there's no need for you to lose sleep studying, is there?  
  
"You really shouldn't throw a tantrum each time you fail to get something handed to you on a platter, Miracleboy. It's unflattering." Draco looked down his nose at Harry and smirked. "And for your information, Potter, I slept like the dead."  
  
For a moment, Harry's face cracked and Draco saw a small but genuine smile directed at him. He was about to return the smile, when Weasel broke in: "Too bad you didn't mean that literally, Ferret."  
  
The moment was ruined. Draco hardened his face and narrowed his eyes at Weasley. Oh, how he wanted to insult the Weasel's heritage, his foul-blooded girlfriend, the inevitable litter of half-breed children they'd inflict on the world...  
  
He just couldn't. Not with Potter's soft eyes of a moment ago still ripe in his memory. Draco stepped away and stated, "I'm done wasting my time with you lot. I'm due in History of Magic - my friends are waiting for me."   
  
Weasel seemed disappointed when Draco left without continuing the spat. "Well..." Draco was walking away by now. Weasley's voice was becoming just another in the crowd. "Tell Tweedle-Dim and Tweedle-Dimmer that we said hi!"  
  
"That was weak, Ron," Hermione said, her voice full of laughter and accompanied by a playful slap.  
  
Draco just rolled his eyes. How did Potter put up with them? He was decent enough without his cronies around. If only Potter would drop his crass and unpleasant friends, Draco could, perhaps, associate civilly with him in public  
  
* * *  
  
It was the second time they'd met with each other after school hours. There hadn't been an arranged rendezvous; the boys had simply drifted back to the Advanced Muggle Literature classroom around one in the morning, same as they'd done days earlier.  
  
Harry was seated on the floor, slumped against the wall. He'd left his invisibility cloak in the dorm and instead had his school robes draped over his lap like a blanket. There was a casual atmosphere to the room, charged through with a slight uneasy feeling. Harry and Draco both seemed uncomfortable with the puzzling situation they'd walked into.  
  
Finally, after pacing awkwardly around, Draco sat on the floor beside Harry. "This is bizarre, don't you think? Just... completely bizarre."  
  
"Why're you here?" Harry paused, reconsidered his question. "Why did you actually want to see me?"  
  
Draco snorted. He scowled as he turned toward the other boy. "I see. I need an excuse."  
  
He shrugged. "Actually, I figured that since your social circle is composed of sycophants, having a chat with your adversary would be a nice diversion."  
  
The scowl turned into a smirk. "Mmm." Draco held Potter's eyes, a knowing expression on his face.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just listen to yourself, Potter. You're an open book! You're an open ...howler of a book."   
  
Harry still seemed a bit lost, and Draco gave a dramatic sigh. "Look. You asked why I came to see you, then said it was because I wanted the novelty of a visit with my adversary." At Harry's nod, he continued. "You mentioned I took company with sycophants. I shan't be defensive because I've no need to. You, on the other hand, are the one of us that winds up in the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet. You constantly have Creeveys following you around, the teachers kissing your arse, free sweets from Honeydukes, all because of..."  
  
"...who I am," he finished. Damn Draco and his insightfulness.   
  
Looking smug, Draco tossed his hair back. "So. Now I know why you came. How did you know I would be here?"  
  
Harry just shrugged. "I didn't know. Only hoped." Then, he clenched his hands in his lap, wringing them nervously. "Only, I was concerned still. I didn't particularly want to see you, just... Gryffindor bravery, loyalty and all that. I meant, earlier, when I asked about you..."  
  
"When you ambushed me with Weasel and the Frizzball," Draco interjected.  
  
Harry couldn't help himself, and laughed. Nodding, he said, "I know I sounded harsh, but I truly was concerned when I asked. Oh, you brought your journal. May I see it?" Harry snatched it from Draco without waiting for a response.  
  
He leaned back, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging his legs to himself. Potter was fingering through the few entries he'd made in the book, and Draco watched him closely. Sure, he'd had a shameful Potter-involved entry or two in there, but he'd seen worse in Potter's own journal.  
  
It dawned on him then - that's why he felt so secure, alone with Potter. Neither had anything to gain by putting on pretenses. Both knew embarrassing secrets about the other, secrets that couldn't be shared without divulging harmful information about himself. They were mutually, grudgingly fond of each other, alone in the empty classroom, but not truly friends. It was genuine, comfortable.  
  
"Oh look," Harry grinned, gesturing at the page. "There I am!"  
  
It's not like he could help it. He was always thinking of Potter... not often in a kindly way, of course, but his unconscious didn't seem to care about the context. Draco coughed softly. "Maybe once or twice, I've dreamt of you." He shifted his weight toward the other boy and smiled, hesitant but suggestive. "Course, I've got this feeling that mine are truly tame beside yours."  
  
Harry's eyes rose from the page, and he slowly closed the book. Intensely green and tenuously narrowed, Draco was paralyzed by the gaze. "I'll lend you my journal sometime," Harry remarked, "Let you decide that for yourself." His voice was lower than Draco had ever heard it, as close to a purr as a non-animagus could get. Speechless, Draco simply nodded in response.  
  
Harry sucked in a quick breath and shifted his eyes back to the closed book on his lap. Whatever had possessed him a moment before seemed to have left, and he stated, "You'll have to give me yours, too. As collateral."  
  
Clearing his throat, Draco forced his focus back on reality. "Understood," he replied.  
  
He found his gaze drawn to Harry's hands, resting still on top of his journal. "You shouldn't do that," he said, gesturing at Harry's raw, chewed fingernails.  
  
"Habit," he shrugged.  
  
It didn't seem a weird thing to do, at that moment. Draco gently lifted one of Harry's hands to eye level and studied it. Harry's fingers were dark and rough against Draco's smooth white palm. The fingertips were pink and raw, the skin around the nails chewed as brutally as the nails themselves. "You've no idea what sorts of bacteria you carry in your mouth." Draco ran one of his own soft, pale digits over Harry's fingertip. "The skin's broken, and that bacteria will leak right in."  
  
"Maybe, but at least I've spread my germs to you now," Harry teased, blushing and shifting unconsciously toward Draco. He let his palm slide against the Slytherin's, before slowly pulling it away. "We ought to be getting back."   
  
Draco nodded. He rose to his feet after a moment of hesitation. Harry followed, bunching up his school robes and hugging them against his chest as he walked to the door. "Sweet dreams, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, handing Draco his journal.  
  
Draco gripped the journal tightly. "You too... and do watch for Mrs Norris." They both loitered in the doorway. Restlessly, Draco kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His sweaty hands stuck to the cover of his journal. "Potter..."  
  
"Yes?" Harry was rigid, and looked at Draco expectantly. His arms were constricted tight around the lump of robes he clutched.  
  
Draco shut his eyes and pressed a muted kiss to Harry's mouth. Closed-lipped and somewhat awkward, it lasted just long enough for Harry to close his eyes and briefly press back.  
  
Draco smirked. He backed away, hands in his pockets, as Harry stood looking confused. "Well, goodnight Potter." He gave a quick wave, turned, and sauntered off down the corridor.  
  
It occured to Draco as he walked (on clouds, with sparks of electricity around his mouth) just how unfair it was of Potter to make him move first. Where was that famous Gryffindor bravery?  
  
* * * 


	3. Act 3

Blame the holidays for the lateness of this one. Also, as in the last chapter, a sincere and grateful thank you for the kind reviews! It's nice that people are reading and enjoying this. *beams*  
  
* * *  
  
Thank the stars, Draco thought for the first time in his life at Hogwarts, that he had a double period of History of Magic first thing this morning. Binns droned on in a thin, toneless voice that routinely lulled his students to sleep. He hovered at the front of the room, always oblivious of students' behavior so long as it wasn't disruptive.  
  
This period found Draco shifting in his seat, trying to find a satisfactory position to sleep in. If he put his head on the desk, his hair would certainly be messed up for the rest of the day. Leaning his head on his hand resulted in his arm slowly sliding from underneath, and he'd wake up as his head bobbed off. Arms crossed on the desk, chin on his forearm, was just plain uncomfortable. Eventually, he snatched Vince's scarf from the back of the seat in front of him, bunched it up and rested his forehead on it. He fell into a shallow sleep breathing in the sharp clean scent of the material.  
  
Had he even been to sleep the night before? Draco honestly wasn't certain. Up late with Harry, then a slow and cautious return to his room. Greg had stirred awake as he'd entered and Draco had lifted a finger to his lips to silence him. By morning, he'd thankfully forgotten, and hadn't asked Draco for an explanation.  
  
For hours, then, he'd stirred under the blankets in his bed. Sleep eluded him and he'd spent hours staring at the backs of his eyelids. Time spent like that was a blur; vaguely he remembered waking up two or three times before dawn, but never recalled actually falling asleep. There were no dreams.   
  
His main problem was the adrenaline and excitement thrumming in his body. Every time he'd think back to his time spent with Harry, he'd feel a stab of pleasurable anxiety that'd jolt him awake. And he couldn't NOT think about it. So much had happened recently, and his relationship with Potter had reversed itself completely. It'd gone so fast, at the time Draco couldn't dissect exactly what'd happened and when things had changed. He was simply wrapped up in the emotions, unable to analyze anything beyond the obvious.  
  
It seemed like he'd just closed his eyes when Vince shook him awake. "Feel free to go on sleeping, but class is over and I'd like my scarf," he'd grinned, and Draco, yawning, handed it over.  
  
Binns was saying something about a test tomorrow. Wonderful, thought Draco as he rubbed his eyes. His fingers skimmed the top of his face; it felt textured, patterned in knit-style. He tried arranging his hair to cover it.   
  
The class filed out, and Draco lagged behind slightly, looking ponderous. He'd had to sleep through one of the few critical History of Magic classes of the year! His grade couldn't suffer the failure of a test. Of course Vince and Greg hadn't taken a word of notes, so he'd have to go with Plan B.  
  
"Rachel!" Draco beamed as he walked up to a short Hufflepuff girl with a hideously chaotic mess of brown curls on her head.  
  
She frowned, looking at Draco with a mix of confusion, suspicion and hope. Her cheeks were flushed and she muttered something inaudible.   
  
Brushing platinum fringe out of his eyes, he flashed her an enchanting smile. "Why don't we walk to Divination together? We've never had the chance to speak much, I'm afraid. Here, let me carry your bag for you..."  
  
* * *  
  
He slept through much of Divination. Still, he found time to not only read Rachel's tea leaves ("You're going to fail tomorrow's History of Magic test. Quite badly, it says here.") but to nick the notes she'd taken in their previous class. Hufflepuffs were diligent note-takers. Probably because they were too thick to remember anything on their own, Draco reasoned.  
  
Potions was next. As much as Snape favored him, there was still no way he'd be able to so much as close his eyes in that class. Draco felt drained, absolutely exhausted. Apparently, the few nights of full sleep he'd had were not enough, and the weeks of sleeplessness were back with a vengeance.  
  
On the way to Potions, he nearly tripped over a Creevey. That settled it - he was going back to bed. Sod the rest of his classes.  
  
Snape would be easy enough to manipulate. The thought that he'd be warm and snug in his bed in less than an hour made Draco smile.  
  
Weasley passed by him, casting a look at Draco. "Why the fuck are you smiling at me, Malfoy?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. He really didn't feel up for verbal sparring. "Your language is as low class as your family, Weasel."  
  
"That's all you've got?" Ron laughed mockingly, showing a mouth full of slightly crooked teeth. "You've used that one before, Malfoy, I'm sure of it!"  
  
Draco sacrificed his desire to have the last word. He sped up his stride, pushing past Weasley and entering the classroom. Ron and Hermione walked in together, a few paces behind him. He hadn't even noticed Granger before, but her presence made sense - Weasley was always pestering him in order to impress the Mudblood.  
  
There was no sign of Potter. Draco was sulking to himself, trying to occupy his mind with other things, but was feeling increasingly anxious at Harry's absence. Vince and Greg showed up just after the start of class and were verbally slapped on the wrist by Professor Snape.  
  
Five minutes later, Harry skulked into the room.   
  
"What a shame," Snape grumbled, "Here I thought this would be a blissfully Potter-free day."  
  
Assorted Slytherins sniggered as Snape deducted ten points from Gryffindor and a humiliated Harry shrunk into his seat. Draco chuckled along with them. Inside, he was quite happy, as he'd had his Harry fix and was content for the moment.  
  
* * *  
  
The stars had smiled on him again.  
  
Draco and Vince finished their potion mere minutes after it was assigned. Perfectly mixed and effective, of course. He watched Weasley and Potter struggle with their potion - an incredibly simple Vanity Serum, for use in making the sloppy more conscience of their appearance.  
  
"Vanity Serum won't help Weasel," he whispered to Vince. "It'll just make him more aware of his hand-me-down clothes."  
  
Ron turned around and glared as the pair laughed. Draco smirked back, innocently fluttering his eyelashes.  
  
He leaned close to Vince again. "I'm not going to the rest of my classes. When I nudge you, start holding your breath."  
  
It was too bad Harry had to suffer. Draco felt a small pang of guilt, but hushed the feeling away. The opportunity was too good to pass up.  
  
He slipped his wand up his sleeve, leaving the tip barely extending past his fingers. Casually, as if stretching out a cramp, he raised his arm and whispered "vaporate". From his hidden wand drifted a near-invisible cloud of mist. It hit its target and immediately, Harry and Ron's potion fizzled and began rising into the air as a fog.  
  
"What...?" Weasely looked puzzled. Draco wasn't surprised; he WAS the thick one of the group. Not so thick, however, as he whirled to face Draco. "What did you DO, Malfoy?"  
  
Snape gave an exasperated sigh. He crossed the room in a most authoritative way, announcing: "Bow your heads and exit the room. Eyes closed, and don't breathe any of that in!"  
  
The class nearly tripped over themselves on the way out. A few students were coughing softly as they milled about in the corridor. Ron couldn't stop sneezing, shooting small iridescent green bubbles each time he did so.  
  
"Potter and Weasley - " Neither boy looked up as Snape said their names. "Need I even say it? The usual time and place for your detentions, plus twenty points from Gryffindor. I do wish you wouldn't insist on ruining my nights as you ruin my days. And Granger - "  
  
Hermione looked up, shocked. She hadn't been anywhere near the situation, having chosen instead to work with Seamus Finnigan.  
  
"You'll be attending detention as well, for allowing Weasley and Potter to so entirely botch their potion."  
  
Draco flashed a smirk at Vince and Greg. "Marvel at my dramatic talent, boys."  
  
He put on a thoroughly miserable face and staggered his way up to Snape. "Professor," he sniveled, a shake in his voice, "I inhaled an entire cloud! I'm certain it was toxic. I feel like I could black out... at any moment..."  
  
"Go back to your room, Malfoy, and sleep it off. There's no need for you to see Madam Pomfrey, as it's just a Vanity Serum. I'd suggest keeping a mirror nearby, on the unlikely chance the potion was mixed correctly..."  
  
"...least something good came out of it..." He heard the Weasel say under his breath.   
  
He walked past the Terrible Trio on his way through the corridor. Granger was lamenting her detention, while Weasley was disemboweling Malfoy with his eyes. Potter, standing slightly apart from the other two, briefly locked eyes with him. He looked... disappointed. Draco seriously hoped he hadn't seen...  
  
"I guess you got what you deserved, Malfoy." Ron glared down his freckled nose at him. "I don't know what you did to our potion, but I hope it makes your eyes fall out."  
  
Harry put a hand on his friend's arm. "Ron, it wasn't his fault. We... must've done something wrong." His words were spoken slowly, in a low voice. Then, surprisingly, Harry looked right at Draco. "I'm sorry you got hurt. It really was an accident."  
  
Draco blinked. The look on Weasley's face was priceless - as was the look on his own, surely. "Of course it was an accident. It isn't like you're bright enough to - " He just couldn't finish, not when faced with Harry's sincerity. "I'll be fine," he muttered instead. "Thank you." As a hasty afterthought, he added, "...Idiot."  
  
His face was burning as he retreated to the Slytherin dorms. He couldn't get to his bed fast enough, and when he did, shut the heavy green curtains around him. Draco felt a stab of pity for Harry. Certainly, he'd be catching hell from Weasley and Granger for sticking up for Draco.  
  
Since Harry would have a miserable detention tonight, he assumed they wouldn't be seeing each other. It was just as well. Draco needed the extra sleep in a desperate way. He couldn't keep blowing off classes.   
  
Ah, Potter... Draco didn't know what he felt for him. Infatuation was a good way of describing it. He'd always been infatuated with Potter, in a critical and negative way. His infatuation now was just of a different sort. It was a sort of crush, he admitted reluctantly. There was a definate attraction, which was seemingly mutual.   
  
Any deeper thoughts on the subject, Draco wasn't willing to work out just yet.  
  
* * * 


	4. Act 4

It started as a pounding in his skull. Like some microscopic parasite with tiny fists bang-bang-banging against the inside of his head. The theoretical parasite had teeth like Granger's, Draco thought as his eyes cracked open.  
  
But the pounding didn't stop. "DRAAACO!" It wasn't a pounding after all, but a firm, rhythmic knocking on the heavy wooden dormroom door. He uttered a soft curse and rolled over to look at his clock; the hand was pointing at a book, covers open and pages fluttering back and forth. He should've been in his Literature class just then.  
  
"Come in," he said loudly. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his messy hair as the door opened.  
  
Fiona Fenwick, a third year with gold glitter on her cheeks, bounced into the room. "Hi Draco." She positvely beamed at his mere presence, which bothered him.  
  
"Did you need something, Fenwick?"  
  
She laughed and gave a toss of her blonde-streaked brown hair. "For the final time, Draco, do call me Fiona."  
  
Draco didn't respond. If he had, it would've meant certain explusion.  
  
It was then that Harry Potter stepped into the room, waving a sheet of parchment. "Thank you for escorting me up here, Fiona, but you really don't need to stay."  
  
Fiona frowned. "Professor Snape said not to leave you alone. He said to escort you in, make sure you gave Malfoy your class notes, and escort you back out." She chewed her lip, looking thoughtful, then said, "Oh, and then I'm supposed to return to class."  
  
"He sent me here as punishment," Harry grinned. He held the parchment up. "And he's making me give up the notes I took of today's lesson. We covered uses of poisons in non-deadly potions, how to neutralize the toxicity and so on. Fiona?" Fiona batted black-rimmed eyes at Harry in response. "Can you leave us alone so I can go over the notes with Malfoy?"  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "Professor Snape said - "  
  
"Fiona!" She cowered slightly with Draco's authoritative tone. "Potter's not going to get away with anything while I'm here! Go sit in the common room."  
  
Fiona gave a quick, quiet nod and was gone in a flurry of robes and lavendar scent. Potter smirked as she passed. "Why Draco, it seems she fancies you."  
  
"Quick one, aren't you Potter?" He muttered.  
  
Uninvited, Harry sat down on the edge of Draco's bed. "So, erm..." His eyes scanned the parchment. "My handwriting's not so awful that you can't read it, but if you need any clarification..." He trailed off, then fell silent. Hesitantly, Harry leaned over Malfoy, his eyes half-closed and his lips poised for a kiss.   
  
Draco recoiled slightly. "What are you doing?"  
  
That Gryffindor courage seemed to falter. Then Harry pressed a quick kiss to Draco's mouth, much like the one Draco'd initiated the night before.  
  
"Last night wasn't some... some fluke, then," Draco murmured, absently licking his bottom lip.  
  
Harry glanced to one side and made a noncomittal noise.  
  
Being in his own room made Draco more confident. He took hold of Harry's shoulder and guided him downward. Harry's eyes were like saucers and his breath ragged. This time, the kiss was slower and when they broke apart, both boys immediately dove back together for another.  
  
The first few kisses were shy and chaste, but this was wet and warm and sloppy, a uniquely teenage boy kiss. Arms hesitantly snaked around each other as the kiss grew deeper. Harry was making soft, enthusiastic whimpers which vibrated against Draco's mouth, and Harry's glasses were prodding uncomfortably into Draco's cheekbone.  
  
Slowly, Harry pulled back, glasses crooked and face flushed. "I uh, I should go, before Fenwick checks up on us."  
  
"Mmm.." Draco reached out and touched his messy ebony hair. "You should. Fenwick would announce our dalliance to the entire Great Hall this evening if she caught us."  
  
"I won't see you tonight," Harry muttered, leaning into Draco's hand.  
  
He grinned up at the other boy. "I almost wish I had detention with you." Draco didn't, really, but by Harry's smile, it was a good thing to say at the moment.  
  
"Oh, don't say such things," Harry said softly.  
  
For a few moments, romantic cliche kicked in and the world seemed to stop. There was just the two of them, affectionately gazing at each other, gently stroking hair or cheek or soft lip. Then Harry slowly pulled away and slid off the bed.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, still holding Draco's hand.   
  
Draco tugged gently on Harry's hand, pulling him back. "One more? Before you leave? I won't take no for an answer, Potter."  
  
Chuckling softly, he pressed a lingering kiss to Draco's lips. "Like I would've said no," he grinned, moving away from the bed. "Feel better, Malfoy. Sorry again for the potion mishap."  
  
Draco flopped backward on his bed, staring sightlessly up at the canopy above him. "Oh Potter... what HAVE you done to me..."  
  
* * *  
  
"Potter asked about you."  
  
Draco looked up from the crumpled Potions notes spread across his lap. "What?"  
  
"At dinner." Vince looked thoughtful a moment, then raced downstairs and returned with a plate of food. "Forgot where I left it," he explained with a smile, handing it over to Draco. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to sag toward him. Draco managed to steady the plate before it slid off. "Greg's got chocolate biscuits for dessert, but he stayed back to chat up some Hufflepuff." Those biscuits would never make it to the dungeons.  
  
He didn't want to seem too interested in what Harry had said. Shuffled the notes from Potions and History of Magic, pretended to look studious, then cleared his throat and casually said, "So what'd Potter want?"  
  
Vince furrowed his brow. "Um... oh! He asked if you were still sick, and why you didn't come to dinner."  
  
"Oh." Draco could feel his cheeks turning red. "Nosy little... person." Well, that was a cutting insult. He looked away, feeling ashamed.  
  
"You and Potter seem friendlier, kinda." Vince fidgetted slightly, looking very much like he didn't want to be snapped at for his remark. "You two friends now?"  
  
Draco coughed. "No. No. Of course not." Pausing, he picked at a crusty roll on the plate. "Just I don't hate him as much, I suppose." Another pause as Draco swallowed hard, his face flushed. "He's not so bad. Not really."  
  
"Nah. Guess not." Vince snatched a boiled carrot from Draco's plate. "Guess we got mature, didn't we?" He continued, his mouth full of carrot. "Only now we've met really stupid people."  
  
"Weasel," muttered Draco.  
  
Vince nodded in agreement. "Remember Clearwater? Couldn't stand her. Lavender in Gryffindor is a right cunt as well." The coarse language brought a sharp glare from Draco. "S'like, we've met so many people that we really, really dislike for real, actual reasons. Don't need to bother with hating the, uh, the harmless ones."  
  
"Exactly." Draco had picked up the roll and was tearing it into smaller pieces before eating it.   
  
There. That wasn't so hard. He admitted he didn't hate Potter to another person and the world hadn't collapsed around them. When his mind swam with thoughts of Harry's pretty mouth, there was no threat to the continuity of time and space.   
  
"That was brilliant, in Potions. No one at all saw your hex, not even me."  
  
Swallowing a mouthful of bread, Draco felt a pang of guilt. Regardless, he lifted his head and smirked. "I really only wanted to get Weasley." He remembered their exchange just before Potions and suddenly wished he'd cursed Weasley's teeth to fall out. "Potter was... simply collateral damage." Served him right for partnering up with such trash, he thought.  
  
But Vince seemed to have moved from the subject, merely nodding in response and asking, "Where's my new issue of Mega Mage and the Wiz Kids?"  
  
"Under my books on the chair." He gestured vaguely across the room. "Don't forget you've got to revise for History of Magic tomorrow," he added as an afterthought.   
  
Draco thought life seemed surprisingly normal, for the day he'd kissed Harry Potter.  
  
* * *  
  
Hogwarts was hit by a thunderstorm that night. The pouring rain couldn't be heard from the subterranean rooms of Slytherin, and they were perhaps the only House that slept uninterrupted.  
  
* * * 


	5. Act 5

I feel like I should apologize for the last part - I was coming off a fit of writer's block so it was much shorter and not-as-good as intended. *mutter*  
  
Thanks again for the reviews! And special thanks to simmysim, just for motivation. :)  
  
* * *  
  
"Dreams," Professor Trelawney was saying as she paced the center of the room, "Are one of the most accurate ways of prophecizing, and one of the most difficult to recognize as prophecy."  
  
Draco thought it was an unusually straightforward lesson from their Divination professor. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd learned anything of use in this class. Of course, Trelawney had to go and destroy the moment of respect she'd earned:  
  
"Some of us are far more gifted at prophecizing than others. It all depends on the vision of your Mind's Eye, how far and how clearly it can see..."  
  
Perhaps the vision of your Mind's Eye could be improved with mental contact lenses, Draco thought.  
  
Rachel the Hufflepuff raised her hand. When Trelawney nodded in her direction, she stated, "On Sunday night, I dreamt I was in trouble for not mixing my potion right and Professor Snape was angry with me. And earlier today, that happened exactly! Only I wasn't mixing a potion. I was just watching one be mixed." Snape, unfairly perhaps, closely regulated Hufflepuffs' access to potion ingredients.  
  
The details didn't seem to matter to the professor, however. "How wonderful, Rachel!" She exclaimed. "You're a budding clairvoyant!"  
  
The girl flushed with pride. "I think that Draco Malfoy is also good at clairvoying," she said, looking over at the puzzled Slytherin. "He said yesterday that I'd fail my History of Magic quiz, and I did! Well, we only took the test this morning and I haven't seen the results, but I'm fairly certain I did fail, as I misplaced my notes and couldn't revise."  
  
"Well... congratulations, dear." Several students choked back chuckles, causing Trelawney to look slightly flustered. "What I mean of course is that when one has a prophecy come to pass in their life, it is evidence of one's place in the universe. One's thread in the tapestry of fate, as it were." She turned toward Draco's table and clasped her bony-fingered hands together in a pyramid shape. "Mister Malfoy. I grant twenty points to Slytherin, and the blessing of the Heavens unto you!"  
  
He wanted to know if the blessing of the Heavens meant his grade would improve any, but in the end that didn't matter. Trelawney's class was so simple Draco could've passed it in his sleep. So simple, Vince and Greg had actually wagered on which of them would receive the highest grade. So simple that Granger had dropped it because she couldn't handle the mental relaxation.  
  
"Dreams!" Trelawney exclaimed, as if her train of thought had just re-railed itself. She spread her hands apart and then tented them again. "I was discussing dreams with you."  
  
Draco slouched in his chair, an overstuffed lilac monstrosity. It was a wonder that daft old bat could sustain a thought long enough to communicate it to the class.  
  
"Draco Malfoy..." He looked up, slightly panicked, at the sound of his name yet again. "Perhaps you can share with us an experience you've had with a particularly moving dream?"  
  
Do I have to? He wanted to ask. His face felt warm and blurted out, "I don't dream."  
  
Trelawney waved her hand. "Nonsense! All wizards dream, unless they've altered their minds with potions or spells." She cast a critical look at him, and he shook his head. "Of course, dear, I knew you hadn't. I see in you the reluctance to ever obscure your seeing powers, in whatever form they may take."  
  
Next to him, Vince sniggered and Greg had to bite down on his knuckle to avoid a disruptive laugh.  
  
"I, uh, used to dream of ghastly... things." Draco crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, how he resented having to share personal details with the class. "I'm certain you'd rather not hear the gruesome details."  
  
Trelawney adjusted her huge, tacky glasses. "Yes, yes. And how did you get rid of the nightmares?"  
  
Potter had kissed them away. Had been kind when he really had no reason to be, had touched him gently and teased him in a way that made Draco instantly aroused. And there was the journal Harry had gifted to him, full of scenes of violence and decay that'd faded off into far more ordinary images. Now with an increasing number of fantasies: grinding his hips into Harry's naked thigh, the two of them tossing and turning in a tangle of sheets, Harry's sweaty face above him with a look of absolute ecstasy...  
  
"I stopped sleeping," he stated.  
  
"Stopped sleeping?"  
  
Yes, clandestine meetings with the Golden Boy have made sleep a luxury.  
  
"I mean," he corrected himself, "I stopped... concentrating on so much negative energy." Draco commended himself for such a Trelawney-friendly answer.  
  
Predictably, her face lit up. "Excellent, Draco! Ten points to Slytherin. Mr Malfoy is absolutely right, class. Negative and positive energy have a grand effect on what we see when we sleep..."  
  
"Weren't we learning about dream prophecies?" Greg whispered.  
  
Draco nodded. "Trelawney's forgotten the prophecy part. Again," he whispered. Like the time they'd spent an entire class on how to properly remove a dove's entrails, and not a word from Trelawney about how to actually read the bloody mess.  
  
* * *  
  
Professor Snape, in all his cranky, slimy glory, was as bitterly reliable as the tides. Draco knew he would be working with Potter today in Potions, because Snape was going to make Granger babysit the Weasel to make sure he didn't cause another hazardous accident. And he'd be stuck with Potter for two reasons: The same reason Granger and Weasel were together, and because Snape mistakenly believed it was a punishment for the both of them to be partnered.  
  
No doubt, Snape would want to punish Potter for the day before, and punish Draco for his histrionics after the incident.  
  
And so it went, just as Draco had predicted.   
  
They were making potions of camouflage. It was not a difficult mixture, but required perfect timing and precise measurments. Between the two of them, Draco and Harry made the art of potion-mixing look incredibly simple.   
  
With the potion well on its way to boiling and the ingredients chopped and measured, Draco put his knife down on the table. "Know what, Potter?" He frowned. "We've both had it wrong, all this time."  
  
"Had what wrong?" Harry answered distractedly, leaning over the cauldron to check their potion. "It's entirely clear. We've done it correctly."  
  
Draco wasn't listening. "Maybe my recent sleep troubles have damaged my mind, but... Harry, I don't think we're as important as we believe ourselves to be."  
  
"What?" Harry looked at Draco. "Wait - what?"  
  
"I said that we - "  
  
"I know what you said," Harry replied. "But you're the most self-centered person I know." Draco opened his mouth to say something, but Harry hadn't finished. "It's an accepted fact of the universe! The earth revolves around the sun, and Draco Malfoy believes both revolve around him. That's the first thing I learned at Hogwarts."  
  
Draco looked cross. "Are you quite finished, Potter?"  
  
"Yes." He smiled kindly at Draco. "But I must admit, I've found it kind of charming."  
  
Against his will, a blush spread over Draco's cheeks and he nearly forgot what he was saying. "Er. Well. I suppose that's true, all of it, but you're certainly not Mister Humility yourself. Your every action, you think the entire school is watching you and genuinely interested in the way Wonder Boy lives."  
  
Draco and Harry both noticed Snape glancing their way, so they looked down and feigned deep interest in potion-making.  
  
"I've got news for you, Potter." Draco had lowered his voice, and looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "The novelty of *you* has worn off. You're just the same as anyone else here. So you make the gossip column every few months - look, my parents make the society pages, Ron's family is always in the Prophet for one thing or another, and I'll bet half the school has had the spotlight on them for a moment or two."  
  
"What's your point?"  
  
"I've been thinking about you lately. After you left my room yesterday..."  
  
Harry bit his lip. "I've been thinking about you too."  
  
"I like you," Draco admitted casually.  
  
"I like you too." Harry glanced over at the potion to make sure it hadn't bubbled over or turned green.  
  
Draco leaned closer. "Then give me a kiss. Or, walk out of class with me, holding my hand."  
  
Harry choked. "Excuse me? Wha - Draco, don't be ridiculous!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Be-because!" Stuttered Harry, looking confused and incredulous in equal parts.   
  
"Who would care, really?" Draco asked. Then he added, "Mind the potion, Potter. I'm giong to add the magicked clothflowers and you put that peeled bug in right after."  
  
"What do you mean, who would care?" Harry threw a glance at Draco, then carefully added his ingredient directly after Draco's clothflowers. "Everyone would be talking about it."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Were you even listening to me? Every morsel of gossip makes its way around the school and dies out. You should know that by now. But no one cares about our business any more than they're concerned with the next person's."  
  
The potion in the cauldron had turned to yellow milk. Theirs had no smell, but a slight burning scent was coming from somewhere in the classroom.  
  
Potter was staring into the cauldron. "Malfoy," he said softly, not taking his eyes off the potion, "That may be the most reasonable thought you've ever had. What's brought this on?"  
  
"I told you: I like you." His fingers brushed the back of Harry's hand, then rested there. He felt Potter tense up. "I like you, and I think we could be together. More than simply an hour or two at night. I'm not going to bother if it's just a halfway effort on your part."  
  
"I understand," Harry mumbled. He pulled his hand from under Draco's and flexed the fingers as if trying to shake the other boy's touch off. "I wouldn't want to waste my time on someone only half devoted to me. Oh, Malfoy? It's turned golden."  
  
"Mm-hmm... I'll stir, you add the bloodweed." The potion turned a deep rust color as the weed was added. Harry switched the flame off; abruptly, the potion cooled and steam stopped rising from the cauldron. "We'll test it on you. It won't burn you, don't worry, the bloodweed reacts with the spell dissolved from the clothflowers to... Potter, are you listening?"  
  
Harry was writing something, which he shoved in the pocket of his trousers. "Yes, yes, listening."  
  
Sighing, Draco put his hand up and signaled the professor. "If you decide... if you think it's worth it... tell me," he said under his breath.  
  
In front of Snape, Draco rubbed a bit of potion onto the back of Potter's hand. Within moments, his hand had blended into the tarnished wood of the table. "Exemplary," Snape had said and grudgingly granted five points to Gryffindor as well as Slytherin.  
  
The class was ending when Harry pressed a torn piece of parchment into Draco's hand. He smiled quickly at Draco before heading off to join his friends.  
  
Draco was willing to sacrifice a fair amount for Harry Potter, and he wanted that to be clear to the other boy. But being a true Slytherin, he'd kept his cards close to his chest. Each consequence had been weighed, and either way, he was going to come out on top.  
  
If Harry wanted him, well, that would be the greatest outcome. If he rejected Draco, Harry would come out of the situation looking shallow and self-obsessed, a total bastard who'd used poor Draco at his most vulnerable. And Draco thought that would've been acceptable too. Acceptable, but heartbreaking.  
  
* * * 


	6. Act 6

*stretches* This story is taking much longer to tell than intended, but slowly, slowly it's working its way to conclusion. I'm flattered and happy (and shocked) that so many people are enjoying it! Okay, before I start rambling, on with part six.  
  
* * *  
  
He'd first opened Harry's note in the library after Potions. It burned in the pocket of his trousers all afternoon, and he imagined he could feel it stinging his leg during dinner. Draco found it hard to concentrate on homework or conversations. He was too lost in thought, but waved away concerns with an excuse about an experimental charm gone awry.  
  
"It's only made my head a bit fogged," he'd said.  
  
Seamus Finnigan had been passing by and glanced at Draco with a cheeky grin. "Sounds brilliant, Malfoy, how about sharin' your stash with the rest of us?"  
  
Draco sneered distastefully. "Shut up, half-breed," he snarled in response.  
  
The momentary exchange had angered Draco out of his stupor. Sure, he'd grown more tolerant of non-Pureblood students in recent years, as long as the worst among them left him alone. He took issue with them flaunting their disgusting Muggle culture throughout the Wizarding world: their trendy drugs, obscene pop culture catchphrases of the week, nonsensical slang and appalling styles...  
  
And he'd recalled the note in his pocket and reluctantly turned his back on Finnigan. If he got into a brawl, Harry would no doubt hear about it, and Draco would get a tongue-lashing from the Gryffindor.  
  
The thought of getting a tongue-lashing from Harry brought a blush to the boy's cheeks.  
  
When at last the day was over and he was snug in his bed, Draco allowed himself to look again at the note. After the day in his pocket, it was wrinkled and a little torn, with the words slightly smeared after he'd been caught in the rain between classes. 'Meet at 2 - dungeons 3rd hall from main stairs,' it read in Harry's sloppy handwriting, 'go down stairs in hall - tap sixth stone up from sixth step from bottom - say "evacata" & go in.' It was signed with a few lopsided hearts that made Draco smile each time he looked at them.  
  
Before bed, he'd cast a waking charm around him, intending to sleep before he'd go to meet Harry. And he did sleep, sporadically. Mostly, his time was spent thinking about the meeting in a few hours' time. Draco did not like spontaneity and he hated surprises, so he lay in bed plotting out scenarios:   
  
Ideally: Harry would say yes, yes Draco I truly want to be with you, and tomorrow at breakfast they'd walk in together and sure, the school would gossip but everything in his world would sparkle.   
  
Or alternately: Harry would say no, no I won't risk my precious reputation for you, Draco, you just aren't worth it and he'd be angry and feel depressed but he'd take away the satisfaction that he was superior to Harry on a personal level.  
  
Bored and bothered with laying in bed, Draco was out of the room half an hour early. Dressed in an expensive charcoal sweater over green satin pajamas, with hair immaculately styled to look like he'd just rolled out of bed, he felt confident that Harry wouldn't be able to resist him.  
  
The corridors of Hogwarts were cold, colder still in the subterranean dungeons, and Draco wished he'd put on actual clothes rather than sexy pajamas. His breath steamed in front of his face as he walked, closely following Harry's scrawled directions. It was rare that anyone descended the stairs in the corridor specified, and Draco kicked up a layer of dust as he walked on them.  
  
With a tap and a whispered "evacata", the stones of the wall slid apart, revealing a pitch-black passageway.  
  
As he'd predicted, Draco had arrived first. "Luminata," he said quietly, and conjured a small ball of light. It hovered before him, blindingly bright, and Draco dimmed it and cast it ceilingward.   
  
The room turned out to be less a room and more a small foyer to a hidden corridor that faded to blackness at its distance. He made a mental note to ask Harry what was down there. The walls were coated in a deep green moss, or fungus perhaps, or something unknown Draco didn't want to dwell on, and water trickled down the stones to the floor. Draco figured that this place must have been slanted, imperceptibly, since the water drained into the cracks between stones and ran down the corridor. It was so silent that he was beginning to feel disconnected from the world outside the room. An occasional, echoing drop of water did little to ease the feeling.  
  
He shivered and crossed his arms over his chest. The wetness of the room enhanced the coldness, and Draco drew his chilled hands up inside the sleeves of his sweater.  
  
Suddenly the stones to his right parted and a solid yet invisible object slid through.  
  
"Oh!" Harry slid the cloak off. "You're early!"  
  
Draco didn't want to admit that he couldn't wait to see Harry, so instead said, "I feared I wouldn't be able to find this place."  
  
"My directions were impeccable!" Stated Harry with feigned indignation. His smile was tinged with shyness.  
  
"Come here, Potter," Draco commanded, looking at the other boy with lids slightly lowered. Harry complied. Draco cupped his face with sweater-wrapped hands and the two met in a slow, soft kiss.  
  
Harry broke into a grin when they parted. "I've been waiting all day for that," he sighed. "You're all I've been thinking about."  
  
A feeling of optimistic triumph spread through Draco. "Really?" He gave Harry another firm kiss, smiling against his lips.  
  
Harry nodded and giggled softly. "Luckily, Care of Magical Creatures was canceled because of the flooded grounds, or I likely would've walked straight into a creature's mouth."  
  
"I'd be inconsolable if you were eaten." Draco nuzzled against the shaggy dark hair behind the other boy's ear. Harry was warm and smelled damp and musty and soapy and deliciously boy-scented. He sighed happily, feeling safe in the embrace. Harry had chased the wet darkness and suffocating silence of the room away, just as he'd chased away Draco's painful nightmares, and Draco was starting to feel every cynical and wary thought melt away as Harry rubbed his back.  
  
He was so lost to this boy.  
  
"Say you'll be with me, Harry," he breathed against Harry's neck. "I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore." It was *such* a cliche, but truthfully Draco wasn't sure he *could* hide his feelings after tonight.  
  
He felt Harry tense in his arms. "Draco..." Harry pulled back and frowned at him. "Draco, I don't know."  
  
Draco returned the frown. He'd just crashed from his own heaven back to reality, and the fall had knocked the air from him. "We spoke about it earlier. I thought you would answer me."  
  
"That's my answer: I don't know."  
  
"...What?"  
  
"I said," Harry repeated, somewhat sharply, "I. don't. know."  
  
Draco paused. It wasn't supposed to work this way. "You're supposed to have thought it out, Potter! I wanted an answer - "  
  
"You don't always get what you want, Draco." Harry leaned on an elbow against one of the rain-slicked walls. "If you want me, you're going to have to give me more than half a day to figure things out."  
  
Draco could feel himself breaking. "But - " The words came in a shaky voice, through clenched teeth: "I want you." As if realizing how unstable he sounded, Draco took a deep breath and gazed steadily at Harry. "I'm willing to give up everything for you, everything that mattered to me and everything I understood about myself for all my years at Hogwarts. All I want from you is the same, Harry. That's all."  
  
Harry blinked his eyes. The stone hallway was starting to feel oppressive, like a heavy wet blanket cocooned around them. "I don't know if I could give that." He looked down, fidgeted with the hem of his hideous Weasley-knit sweater. "And it'd be unreasonable of me to ask it of you," he said, looking back up and meeting Draco's gaze with his own. "And... and in all frankness, Draco, what you just said *really* doesn't sound like you. Not the Draco I thought I knew, nor the one I've come to know."  
  
This entire situation was spinning out of... out of control, or out of plot, and it made Draco desperate and light-headed and uncomfortable. It just wasn't working at all, and Draco's cheeks felt damp and he told himself it was moisture from the leaky room, but nonetheless turned his face away from Harry.  
  
He rested his cheek against the wall. Closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and all that existed in his world was the centuries-old stone against his cheekbone and the layer of cold slime against his skin.  
  
"Draco..." Harry said it quietly, and he felt the other boy's hand tentatively stroking his hair.   
  
The silence was starting to choke him. Everything was so saturated with water, Draco felt he may drown just from breathing.  
  
Harry gripped his shoulder, gently turning him back around. "Draco," he said again. This time, the name was little more than a breath. "I just need time." His open palm caressed Draco's damp cheek, wiping off the greenish-brown slime smeared on his porcelain skin. "And you need some time too," he said gently, punctuating the statement with a kiss.  
  
"I do *not* - " Draco protested weakly, "I do not need - "  
  
When Harry wrapped his arms around him, Draco collapsed against him in a damp and shivering bundle. "Humor me, then," said Harry softly. "You said you'd give everything for me, so just give me some time." He stroked the blond's back in a comforting caress. It seemed to be working; a calmer Draco pulled away just a fraction and gave a slight nod.  
  
With a relieved smile, Harry leaned down and captured his lips in a warm kiss. Draco sighed, his eyes sunk closed and he melted into the other boy's mouth.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked as they broke apart.  
  
Emotionally drained, Draco thought to himself. He then answered just that. Doing so surprised him, actually, and he felt a bit bothered that he was starting to speak his mind so completely to his ex-rival.  
  
"It's late," Harry muttered, his cheek resting against Draco's.   
  
"I know," replied Draco. He tightened his arms around the other boy, in case Harry tried to escape the embrace. He didn't though, instead snuggling closer and pressing his face into Draco's collar. Harry's glasses were digging into his skin but Draco didn't care, as that minor discomfort was far overwhelmed by the feeling of Harry's soft face and warm breath against his neck.  
  
For the life of him, Draco couldn't fathom just what either of them needed time to think about.  
  
* * * 


	7. Act 7

Quick author's note: I haven't forgotten this story, and I promise it will not be left unfinished. Honest, I meant to leave several months between updates. *cough* Really. Uh. Because my muses needed a nap.  
  
Thanks, everyone, for the reviews and feedback. It's all so very kind, and I appreciate it completely. *beams*  
  
* * *  
  
Shadows like burnt oranges ringed Draco's eyes once again. He'd slept for two hours the previous night. It was now mid-afternoon and he was feeling the creeping tiredness taking over his system, but couldn't afford to sleep through any of his classes.  
  
He'd lingered in the crypt-like room for an hour after his conversation with Harry, exactly 46 minutes longer than Wonderboy. He'd felt sad and stupid by the time he skulked his way back into the Slytherin dorms. Thinking out situations, planning outcomes -- Draco was good at that. He had worked out all possible conclusions to their meeting that night. Yet Draco always failed to take emotion into consideration, always forgot how sudden pangs of anger or hurt could warp the plot.  
  
The latest entry in the nightmare journal involved a leash made of wire that cut like a razor, and Draco willingly slipping its sharp collar around his neck. He held the end of the leash in a bleeding hand. Draco wandered, lost; he had to find Potter, had to give him the end of leash.   
  
This was different from his earlier string of nightmares. Those were disgusting and bloody but rarely resonated emotionally. Last night's dream, though tame compared to the others, left him feeling hollow and sick. So much that he'd abandoned the idea of sleep altogether and occupied himself by making corrections to Greg and Vince's Potions essays.  
  
With warm air and stale perfume attacking his senses, he was having a hard time keeping his eyelids from dropping in Divination. At one point, Draco nodded off against Vince's shoulder until the other boy jarred him awake.  
  
Sometimes, he just couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to go to Potter for help with his nightmares. Sure, he was the obvious choice to talk to about such matters -- couldn't very well ask Fenwick or Parkinson how they slept through the night, could he? His only other option by that point was to ask Professor Snape for a Dreamless Sleep Draught, and suffer all the ill side-effects brought on by the potion. Even falling for Potter was preferable to that.  
  
In retrospect, Draco was also ashamed at how easily he'd opened up to his nemesis. Like a sliding door, or Pansy's legs. They'd hardly had a civil conversation, and Draco had poured out his heart and innermost thoughts. Perhaps it was some hypnotic power from those green eyes... yes, if he had to explain it, Draco chose to believe he'd been bewitched.  
  
Suddenly, he was jolted back to awareness thanks to a quick jab in the ribs from Vince. Trelawney was willowing her way to their table. "Rachel has requested you partner with her," the teacher said, "since you foretold her future so well." She smiled animatedly. "Her stars must be extremely clear to your eye, Mr Malfoy!"  
  
Draco glanced at Hufflepuff Rachel, who smiled and waved shyly at him from across the room. Her brown curls were tied with yellow ribbons into twin bunches, making her look, Draco thought, rather like an oversized stray poodle.  
  
Oh, if only he'd listened to his father and instead taken Arithmancy.  
  
* * *  
  
The way Weasel's loud voice carried through the halls alerted Draco to the trio's presence before he could see them. "Meet you after Quidditch, Harry!" broke through the crowd, and Draco realized it was too late to either dodge or elude Potter.  
  
With long strides, the dark-haired boy fell into step next to him. "Hi, Malfoy."  
  
The thick, chilling air of the stone room flashed to mind, air so damp he could drown in it. He was feeling that way every time Potter came near, like he was one watery breath away from drowning.  
  
Draco gave a curt nod in greeting. "Potter."  
  
Harry smiled at him, but kept walking a safe distance away from the blond. "Interested in meeting tonight? Same room?"  
  
His heart jumped in his chest and Draco nearly accepted the invitation without thought. Instead, he looked straight ahead and forced out: "Sorry. I simply won't have the time tonight."  
  
With satisfaction, Draco noted that Harry was genuinely stunned. Draco himself was slightly stunned; he wanted nothing more than to be in that room again, lips crushed to Harry's, pulling the other boy down to the slick, mossy floor.  
  
Potter kept pace with Draco's quick strides. "Oh. Another night, then."  
  
And because Draco wanted that more than anything, he couldn't let himself have it. He'd given far too much already; there was little more Draco could afford to sacrifice to Harry, who couldn't even trust him in return. Distance was best.  
  
Harry's steps fell behind when he realized Draco was through talking to him. Soon, Draco couldn't feel the other boy's presence nearby at all.  
  
* * *  
  
The Gryffindor Golden Boy simply would *not* be ignored.  
  
It'd been a week since they'd shared a night, each day easier than the last for Draco. He'd put distance and schoolwork between him and Harry and as a result, was getting near-perfect scores on everything he turned in. Sleep patterns were as cruel as ever; now he crashed into bed promptly following dinner and woke well before dawn. His days were dull and somnambulant, but all of it did well at keeping his mind and hands away from Harry Potter.  
  
Until today's confrontation.  
  
"You're avoiding me." The voice was harsh, accusatory.  
  
Draco knew this was inevitable. He nearly ran into Potter's arm, outstretched and blocking his path. Cornered against the wall in a wave of passing students, Draco shrunk against the coarse stones. "I don't know what you mean."  
  
Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "You do so, Malfoy." They were jostled by an older Ravenclaw making a mad dash toward lunch. Potter held his ground, narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "We met every night, nearly, and were getting on so well. Now, you've never got time for me. Half the time, I can't even catch you to talk and the other half, you said you were too busy to meet."  
  
"Can't sacrifice my grades for a few snogs, Potter," Draco muttered. The line sounded flat, rehearsed -- which it was. He'd been waiting days for the opportunity to use it.  
  
"Even the weekends!" His voice cracked, and Draco saw the boy's eyes shake with emotion. "You couldn't even see me -- "  
  
"Look." Ducking from under Harry's skinny arm, Draco took hold of his wrist and dragged him away from the surging crowd of students. "I told you, didn't I? What I wanted?"  
  
Harry snorted. "No, I don't know what -- "  
  
"I said I wanted all or nothing," he clarified. "Your full attention, an actual relationship. I want to know you're giving as much as I am, Potter. Some clandestine snog session isn't enough for me."  
  
The green eyes continued to shimmer with emotion, but Harry's expression was blank. After a minute filled with nothing but the echoing of others' voices in the corridors surrounding, he quietly said, "That's right. You did tell me."  
  
"And you forgot." Vague pain crept into Draco's voice.  
  
Harry nodded and glanced away. "I didn't think you really meant that. I mean. It just doesn't seem like... like a very Malfoyish thing to say. I thought you'd just forget about it."  
  
Draco's pale hands trembled. Did Harry realize how much Draco had risked on that night? Only to be gently rejected in the end, in spite of everything he'd given.  
  
"How could you," Draco choked. "Who do you think..."  
  
Didn't think he'd mean it? He winced at the words. After all he'd revealed of himself... after laying his mind open for Potter... Potter still thought so little of him?  
  
"Malfoy! Malfoy wait!"   
  
Before he could even think of a proper response, Draco's feet had carried him far down the hallway, against the tide of wandering Hogwarts students. Many turned toward him as he carelessly shoved his way through the crowd. Tears stung his eyes and Draco willed them not to fall.  
  
"Malfoy!" His arm jerked backward, grabbed by Harry's small hand. "Wait!"  
  
Draco whirled around, wrenching his arm from Potter's grip. "This isn't happening," he growled, "ever again."  
  
The first moments of Draco's morning days before flooded back to mind: the panic at the slavery in his dream, the horrible realization of what it meant, and the first pure instinctual reactions to reverse the damage that'd already been done.   
  
That's all he could do now. Draco had to have resolve, had to kill the addiction where it stood.  
  
As he stormed away once again, he shouted over his shoulder, "You stay away from me, Potter, or you'll be sorry!"  
  
* * * 


End file.
